The Way of Kings
by El Stormo
Summary: Another Vampire Bloodlines story, starring Ms. Del Rey. Takes place between A Plague of Angels and Hengeyokai.
1. Chapter 1

If you think Princes are big-headed, you have obviously never met a Baron. It's funny how Anarchs always shout "freedom" at the top of their lungs, yet they so gladly accept the rule of Barons, who are usually even more pompous than the Princes they so antagonise. I've always compared Anarchs to juvenile delinquents: as long as they can oppose something, anything, they're happy. Makes them feel like revolutionaries. Sad fact that they can't look beyond the lengths of their noses, but they don't seem to mind. If they even realize it at all.

The Baron of Hollywood was a prime example of this hypocritical ideology. Paying my respects to the person in charge of a city has never been a problem for me since, unlike many of my Brujah kin, I did not automatically oppose everything that had a faint whiff of authority clinging to it, but I always found it silly that the freedom-fighters with the loudest mouth and the largest banners for independence always demanded the most deference from others, once they were in power. 'The more things change...', I suppose.

Prince LaCroix had already informed me of Baron Abrams' emphasis on tradition and hierarchy, so when the taxi dropped me off, I was already planning to announce my presence, something I always did, even without being ordered to. But Abrams' fixation on tradition would become obvious right when I first set my boot down on the street of Hollywood.

"Well, well. New dead flesh in town," the voice greeted me. It belonged to someone who was obviously a mindless bootlicker, and proud of it. It seemed Abrams thought showing his dominance could never be done too early. But this greeting left a lot to be desired.

"Look at the manners on you," I replied bluntly. "That the way your Baron welcomes his guests?"

The cronie crossed his arms and sneered. "Depends."

"On?"

"On whether they're one of us, or Camarilla trash."

I sighed. "You Anarchs are all the same." I was getting rather tired of their usual 'us against them'-attitude.

"So are you Cammies."

This dolt was trying my patience. What we had here was the typical example of the Anarch, fitting all the vilest stereotypes of their kind. The tyipcal cool-guy pose was bad enough. Add to that the silly bandana and tank top. The arrogant smirk and the fake-gravelly voice made it even worse. And to make the picture complete: sunglasses. Vampires, by definition, don't need sunglasses. I always hated people who wore sunglasses at night, on cloudy days, or indoors. Nothing screamed, 'Look at me! I want to be cool!' more than sunglasses without sun.

But since I needed Isaac's services, I might as well be a bit diplomatic. "Is there a point to all this?" I sighed.

The flunky jabbed a finger at me. "You bet there is." And then he waited again.

"You're getting on my nerves, Anarch! Get to the point or get lost!"

Another finger-jab. "The _point_, brat, is that you should have only one destination right now, and that's Isaac's place. You don't go anywhere else until you've seen him. Got that?"

I nodded. "I get what you're saying, yeah. But what if I don't feel like seeing Isaac right now?" I was going to anyway, but that didn't mean I had to let myself get bossed around by this idiot.

The cool-guy stance turned into the threatening-cool-guy pose. "If you don't feel like seeing Isaac, it means you don't show any respect. And if you got no respect, you need to be taught some."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Trust me," he fake-gravelled. "You want to see Isaac."

When he saw I still wasn't impressed, he played what was, in his view at least, his trump card: "and your little boss Prince LaCroix doesn't have jack-shit to say here. This is our city."

"You think I need LaCroix to protect me? There's far more powerful Kindred behind me. Trust me, if you even touch me, LaCroix will be the least of your worries." It might have been a bit of bragging, but this guy clearly needed to be shown that the world was bigger than this little Anarch sandbox. "Besides, you'll find hurting me in the first place will be much more difficult than you think."

I saw him get unsure for a moment, trying to decide what to do.  
And he apparently decided to back down, but in order to make it look like he wasn't afraid, he started to laugh, trying to give his retreat a type of "you're-not-worth-it"-aura. Stupid, since we both knew it was simply because he didn't have the guts. As he walked away and laughed his attempt-at-looking-confident laugh, I stood hoping Abrams was at least a bit less of a fool than his peons.

"Hey!" I shouted after him as he walked away, trying to look like the victor leaving the battlefield.

"What?" he barked back. It would seem that his courage increased along with the distance between us.

"How 'bout telling me where Isaac lives, genius?"

"I knew you'd realize what's good for you," he sneered. I rolled my eyes in response. "Jewellery store at the end of the street, sugar," he gravelled and walked off, chest inflated. Let him have his illusions.


	2. Chapter 2

The jewellery store where Isaac Abrams held audience was beyond tacky. Comfort and luxury were one thing, but the back room of the store screamed "filthy rich" louder than a babboon on steroids. Sitting behind a polished ebony-wooden desk, and clad in an expensive earth-tone suit and an arrogant smile, was Baron Isaac Abrams.

I decided to place prudence before prejudice and bowed curtly. "Good evening, Baron. My thanks for welcoming me into your city." They liked it when you called it '_their_ city'. And indeed, Abrams' smile widened into a grin.

"Greetings, Kindred. I must say I am pleased to see that the Traditions are not entirely lost among Neonates." I was by no means a Neonate anymore, but I ignored the insult. It was made out of ignorance more than malice.

"Prince LaCroix asked me to convey his greetings, Baron."

He chuckled. "Yes, of course, otherwise it wouldn't be clear enough who sent you, would it?"

I remained silent.

"Well, do be sure to return to him my kindest and most heartfelt sentiments." Sarcasm oozed off his voice.

"Goes without saying, Baron."

The Baron leaned back in his chair and swept a hand at the chair before him. "Do sit down." I did so. "So, tell me, what brings a servant of the Prince to Anarch territory?"

I had been sent to Hollywood by Prince LaCroix to recover a stolen sarcophagus, one I had been chasing for a while already, only to find out that someone had gotten to it before me. The Prince's outraged suspicions went in the direction of the Nosferatu, one called Gary in particular, since he was the only one with both the information and the organisation to attempt such a daring theft, right under the Prince's nose, and to my shame, mine too, but I preferred not to dwell on that too much. At any rate, the Nosferatu seemed to have gone into hiding lately for some obscure reason, and so it had once again fallen upon me to flush them from their holes. It promised to be an unsavoury expedition.

"I see," Abrams said. "Call me old-fashioned, but before I allow you to operate in my city, you will have to pay me some kind of tribute." Figured. "And since you're obviously pressed for time, I'll only ask a short favour of you."

I nodded.

"In your life, unwittingly or not, you have seen at least one Isaac Abrams production. DeNiro, Scorsese, McQueen, Dean, De Palma, Brando – I've worked with them all." He chuckled. "I remember some studio suit lost in time telling me that the only thing they could use Bogart for was to move furniture."

For understanding the urgency of my mission, he sure took his sweet time.

"I regularly scout for promising actors and directors, and they often contact me with propositions. Being the Baron of Hollywood, I can do any project I want. Right now I have an item I'd like you to pick up – a tape – and return to me. To show your good-will, so to speak."

"That's it? Simply pick up the tape and return?"

He spread his hands. "That's all. Like I said, just a simple errand. A token gesture on your part. It might appear a bit pointless to you, but I place great importance in tradition, and it's customary for a Baron to ask for a small service from every new Kindred."

"It's no problem at all, Baron," I lied.

He grinned. "Well, the Prince's agents seem to be improving in terms of manners. It does me pleasure."

"I do have questions, Baron."

He nodded. "Yes, of course you do, and I'll be glad to answer them when you get back." He smiled and rose, "I'll see you when you have my delivery, then?" It wasn't a question.

I rose as well. "You haven't told me where I should pick it up."

"Oh! Right!" he exclaimed, and the hesitated. "Well, the person who's making the delivery is a bit of a nervous type, and he wants to meet only on his conditions. You'll have to go to the Ground Zero – it's some Internet café nearby – and log on to one of the computers. Open account #12147, the password is 'Kafka'. There'll be an e-mail in the account's Inbox telling you where to meet him."

"Very well, I'll see you when I have your tape, Baron."

* * *

If I had still breathed, my breath would have come out in white puffs of air. It was positively cold. And even though I didn't have to shiver (I didn't have a body temperature to keep on level), cold was still as uncomfortable to me as it was to any living creature. It would seem we were only left with the negative traits of our former human selves. I hated waiting, and waiting in a cold and grungy alley was even worse. That paranoid twerp who wanted to give his little project to Isaac was testing my patience. It was probably some crap short-film with shoddy acting, made with a cheap hand-held camera.

"You alone?" a voice hissed from the shadows.

"Do you _see_ anyone else?" I replied. "No? Then I'm probably alone."

The kid walked toward me, looking around edgily. The hood of his sweater was up, and short white puffs came from beneath it. He almost shoved the tape into my hands. "Take it!"

"What's the hurry?"

His eyes flicked back and forth to the sides of the alley. "Man, I need to get rid of that shit. Ever since I watched that fucking tape... weird shit's been happening, man. Like when the phone rings, and when I pick it up, I hear them breathing and then they hang up again. And I keep seeing things. Eyes in the darkness, from the corner of my eye, but when I look at them, they're gone. Man, I'm fuckin' scared!"

"What's on that tape?" I asked calmly.

He half-laughed nervously. "Oh man, it's totally disgusting. Shit, when it comes to video, I've seen everything, and fuck, I really mean _everything_. But that shit... man, it's... that girl... what they did to her... Fuck, just watch it, man!"

"I will."

He gave the tape another shove. "Shit, take it away from me as far as possible!"

Then he ran off, through the alleyways and back towards main street. I stood watching the tape in my hands, turning it over. The only thing I saw on the label was an emblem that looked like a distorted skull, but I couldn't quite make it out in the dark. And as I walked back to main street myself, my boot stepped on a manhole cover, and into a sticky and fresh puddle of blood.

"I trust you encountered no difficulty during this simple errand?"

Isaac's grin showed that he knew he'd sent me on more than a simple FedEx trip.

"No _real_ difficulties, no. But somehow I have a feeling that this isn't some cruddy tape from an inept-yet-hopeful director-wannabe."

He nodded. "I wish I could say it'll be a refreshing change, but I'm afraid that won't be the case." He paused, rubbing his chin. "In fact, I'd like you to watch it together with me."

"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously. Surely he didn't need someone to hold his hand during the scary bits?

He gave me a frown that showed he knew what I was thinking. "I'd like you to watch this tape with me because I know why you're here, and this tape might help your assignment." Should have known he already knew what I'd come for.

He pushed a button on his desk and part of the wall slid open with a soft buzz. Behind the sliding door was a large TV-screen and a VCR. He slid the tape into the VCR and sat down, swivelling his chair so he could watch.

At first only static showed up. It reminded me of some horror movie I'd seen when I was still alive, where people died after seeing a certain video.

"Maybe we need to fast forw-" Isaac began, but just then the static turned into a black screen. And that, in turn, changed into the view of a red room.


	3. Chapter 3

Gasping, she leans against the door. There's blood everywhere. On the walls, the door, even the ceiling. She tries to catch her breath, putting her weight against the door, but with two loud bangs, the door is thrown open, and she's knocked forward, onto the bloody floor. Slipping and sliding, she runs again. There is a sound of beastly growling behind her. Her pretty face is contorted in a mask of pure terror. She runs and sobs, but whatever it is, it stays right on her heels. She clambers up a staircase, slipping on the blood, and throws open a door, slamming it closed behind her. Just in time, she sees the key sticking out of the lock and twists it. She puts her weight against the door again and sobs again in pure fear. Whatever is going on, it's _real_. You can't act this kind of terror.

Wide-eyed, she looks around the room – it's as bloody as the other one – for a window or a balcony to escape through. But she sees no escape, only a mangled carcass of a German shepherd, with two hideous monsters on top of it, gnawing and tearing at the cadaver's limbs. The creatures are the size of a small dog, but they consist of a disgustingly ugly brown-red head with a tooth-ringed, leech-like mouth, with two equally ugly paws planted in the sides. Beady, watery black eyes stare out from inside wrinkled red eye-sockets. They turn to her, and despite their abomination-like appearance as heads with two paws, they move lightning quick.

The woman barely has time to scream before they're upon her. One closes its tooth-ringed mouth on her face and tears the skin off with a horrible wet ripping sound, while the other attacks her chest, biting through her right breast and the ribcage beneath it with a sickening wet crunching sound. She's still screaming when the first abomination discards the torn skin and goes for her throat. Her head is a bright red, flayed horror with teeth and eyeballs standing out in stark white. She finally stops screaming when the creatures pull in opposite directions, tearing her flayed head from her shoulders in a shower of blood.


	4. Chapter 4

Isaac and I sat staring at the logo of the skull with three eyes. Under the skull was written "DEATH MASK PRODUCTIONS" and the sound of a heartbeat was the only thing coming from the speakers. We both said nothing.

At length Isaac swallowed. "I think you'll agree with me that that was not acted."

I nodded. "Those creatures were either real, or the best special effects I've ever seen."

"That's what I thought too," Isaac replied, and then he was quiet again. If I'd still had the ability, I would've been sick to the stomach. I'd seen a lot since I died, but this... I could only shudder at the terror that woman must have felt. And innocent, pretty girl who probably thought she was doing a friend a favour by acting in his amateur film project. But who was so twisted he got a kick out of taping that horror and sending it into the world?

Isaac was probably thinking the same thing I was. "Whoever made that tape," he said quietly, "it was not a human."

"I think that's fairly certain, yes."

He ran a hand through his brown, neatly arranged hair. "You're looking for the Nosferatu, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, they seem to have gone into hiding. And it's likely that whoever made that tape is responsible for that."

"What makes you think that?"

"Lately there have been quite a few sewer workers gone missing. They welded the sewer covers shut when they found one of them, brutally mutilated."

So these creatures also resided in the sewers, the home of the Nosferatu.

"But what does this tape help us?"

Isaac thought for a while. "Very little. At least, as long as it's incomplete. If we saw the entire tape, we might find some way to recognize the house."

"If that house isn't just a derelict place used for the occasion."

"Yes, well I supposed we'll just have to hope it isn't."

I nodded. It was better than nothing at all. "So what do we do now?"

"_We_ don't do anything," Isaac said curtly. "But _you_ might be interested in acquiring the entire tape. And you'd be doing the film industry a favour too, because this Death Mask Productions is scaring a lot of potential project makers."

Should have known it'd be up to me. "If you want to find the tape, I suggest you start by looking for the people... if you can call them that, who distributed this piece of excrement. This... Death Mask Productions."

"Where should I start?"

Isaac grimaced in disgust. "I think the best place to start looking would be the local smut peddlers, I suppose."

Like I said, it was going to be an unsavoury expedition.


	5. Chapter 5

"Fisting Bondage She-Male Sex Machines "#17", the case of the tape said. Was I the only one in the world who found porn videos completely ridiculous? I sighed and put the tape back in the rack. The smut dealer behind the counter had been leering at me ever since I'd come in. I felt an urge to shower, but despite my revulsion, I walked to the counter. The peddler's one-sided grin widened. I felt like I was soaked in drool.

"My, my..." he purred. "Look what honey-glazed beauty just walked into my store to indulge in her naughty desires."

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't come here to buy smut," I looked at his nametag, "...Phil."

His grin widened even further. "Aha. So you're one of the rising stars come to make it big in the scene and join the firmament? Of course it takes an inside contact to set you up with the big dogs in the scene. I could arrange that if you want, if you'd... prove your skills to me first, if you know what I mean," he said, slime oozing off his voice. His eyes remained firmly fixed on my breasts.

I remained silent and glared. He wrung his hands nervously. "Ehhh... guess not then."

"You guessed right."

"So what do you need then?"

"Info."

The disappointment sloughed over his face. "If you need info, buy a tourist guide, bitch."

I showed him the Glock 7c hanging from my belt. "I've got my tourist guide right here... bitch."

"Aw man," my new friend whined. "You criminals and your guns all the time. What do you need, money? It's been a slow night, I ain't got much in the register."

"I told you I needed information, not money. Pay attention."

He ran a hand through his hair. Well, 'hair' was a big word... More like his bald skull with the pathetic ponytail tied from the remainders of his hair.

"Death Mask Productions," I said. "Sound familiar?"

He backed away a step. "Oh no man! Nu-uh! No way, man! I ain't sayin' shit about those guys! No way! No... fuckin'... way!"

"That scared huh?" He sounded like it, anyway.

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Look, I don't know what business you got with DMP, but whatever it is, get out of it, now!"

I leaned towards him so we looked like two plotting villains in a crappy movie, and said, equally conspiratorially, "I didn't ask for advice, tough guy. I want to know where I can find them."

He laughed nervously. "Oh man, don't fuckin' do this to me, man. You don't want to mess with those guys, they're fuckin' crazy, man!"

"I'm not a man. And the way I see it, you can choose between a bunch of crazy snuff movie makers on the other side of Hollywood, and an angry bitch with a 10mm pistol right in front of you."

He groaned.

"Death Mask Productions. Spill it, jack."

Phil the smut dealer sat down and hid his face in his hands. "The phone at the Red spot down the street, the public phone, it rings every night at one A.M.. When you pick it up, some creepy voice will say some shit like, 'the moon is a dark mistress', and then you're supposed to say, 'who rides the night with demons of dread'. Or something like that."

"Something like that, or exactly that?"

He sighed. "Exactly that."

"Thank you, I said cheerfully. "You've been a great help!"

"Oh yeah?" he barked. "And what if they find out who told you this? Huh?"

"Then there'll be one less kiddie-porn salesman in the world, Phil," I said calmly as I walked out.

"Hey man!" he yelled after me. "All our models are 18 or older at the time of production!"


	6. Chapter 6

"The Moon is a dark mistress..."

"... who rides the night with demons of dread."

"You'll find it at Ginger Swan's place." Then a click, and a dialtone.

How the Hell was I supposed to know where I could find Ginger Swan's place? I didn't even know who the Hell it was. Although the name did sound familiar, somehow. Wasn't she some kind of celebrity? A movie star? If she was, then there was definitely someone who could help me.

"Ginger Swan?" Isaac asked in amazement. "Eh... I don't think you'll find her at the head of a snuff movie network these days."

I shrugged. "Well, I suppose you never really know to what depths people may sink, do you?"

Isaac chuckled. "That's true. She's sunk very low. About six feet, I think. If she's distributing snuff movies, she's doing it from the graveyard."

"What, she's dead?"

"And mouldy, I fear. Ginger Swan died three years ago."

"Aha," I thought. "Then it's probably something cryptic. 'Ginger Swan's Place'... Where did she use to live?"

"In the Hollywood Hills, but her house was torn down and replaced by a motel. Besides, I don't think that's what they're referring to."

"Probably not, no," I agreed. "So what then?"

Isaac looked at me with his eyebrow raised.

"Is there a house named after her or something? Or a bar? Something like that?"

Isaac's eyebrow remained raised.

"What?"

"Think for a minute," he said. "You're searching too far, I think."

"Too far? 'Ginger Swan's Place'. What else could it m-" And then I slapped my forehead. "Of course."

* * *

Scanning the plaques on the wall, I finally found the gilded one with 'Ginger Swan' on it. I quickly glanced around in case there was a night watchman pulling – literally – the graveyard shift, and then took out the axe I had swiped from the caretakers' fire-cabinet. It only took one swing to crack open the stone cover of the niche. I didn't even have to take the coffin out (luckily), the tape lay on top of it. I wondered how they'd managed to get the tape inside without breaking the cover, but they'd probably bought off a caretaker or something. Nothing is sacred these days.

When I returned, tape in hand, Isaac already sat waiting, the slide-doors of the television opened. he swivelled his leather chair around to face me. "There you are. I hope you didn't desecrate too many graves?"

I smiled. "Just the one."

He held out his hand. "Shall we?"

This time the tape was complete, showing the girl being dropped off by a taxi and entering the house, a large white villa in the Hollywood Hills. Although I didn't mind one bit that Isaac turned it off when it got to the part that we'd seen already.

"...Unless you'd like to keep watching?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I don't think that'll be necessary."

"I thought so. Anyway, I think I know the street in the tape. King's Way, I think. I'm sure you'll recognize the house if you take a taxi past it."

"Well, then that video was good for one thing, at least," I replied. "Now we know where to find our next lead."

Isaac nodded. "Though I'm afraid that is as far as my assistance can extend." What assistance? It was I who had done his work for him! This was an outrage! He clearly meant to take advantage of my urgent mission to let me do some more dirty – and dangerous – work all on my own!

"What?" I cried incredulously, "So you're going to send me on my way to that place with just a wave and a smile?"

He spread his hands. "I'm sorry, miss Del Rey, but I'm not the one on a mission from my Prince."

"No," I snapped, "but the fact that I'd be doing the film industry, i.e. you, a big favour might convince you to be a bit less cheap when it comes to sending me to that house on my own!"

Isaac pointed a finger at me, "Don't forget whom you're speaking to!"

"And don't _you_ forget who's going to rid your city of a serious threat! Something your worthless bootlickers – and they are worthless, if they're anything like that guy who welcomed me earlier – don't seem to be able to do!"

"That's enough out of you! I'm losing patience!" Isaac threatened. I gritted my teeth but decided not to pursue it. "Very well, I apologize. But I'm still very disappointed that you would send someone to her possible death, without any help, even though you have much to gain from seeing me succeed."

Isaac sighed and looked away. "Fine. I'll be magnanimous. I can't send any people with you, but I can help you in another way. Go to the Red Spot - you know that store down the street, right? – and ask for today's special. Tell him you're picking up Isaac's delivery."

I nodded. "Thank you."

He nodded back. "Good luck."

And so I left Isaac's place. I never saw him again, and last I heard he had been destroyed trying to take on a gargoyle with a few fledglings and ghouls. The gargoyle had bit it eventually, but not many had walked away. Amateurs.

Anyway. The package at the Red Spot turned out to be something that probably hadn't been a big expense to Isaac, but it helped me out a lot. When I returned to my apartment in downtown L.A., I opened the package and took out a large Colt Python with four filled speedloaders. Clint Eastwood would have approved.

But it would be morning soon, and as much as I'd love to see the sun go up once more, I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

When I woke up, I jumped, thinking the sun was flooding into my room, but I had simply left the light on when I fell asleep this morning. That wasn't a problem though, the LaCroix Foundation paid the electricity bill. I took off my clothes and threw them in the washer. I should get a ghoul like the others. Having to wash my own clothes was just so unglamorous.

I performed my evening ritual, as always, showering and brushing my hair with my white T-shirt on, and looking out at the people coming home from work. But I had no time, or no mind, for melancholy now. My mind was worrying about the place I had to go tonight. What if those things were still there? They looked fierce enough. Sure, one of them probably wouldn't be a match for a well-prepared Vampire, but they seemed to like attacking in groups. And they were quick and combined that speed with attacks from ambush. I wasn't the type to be afraid, but this thing worried me.

* * *

"Yes, Tanira?" 

"Hello, master. Can I bother you for a moment?"

"Of course," my master replied, "Hold on." There was the sound of my master apologizing and shuffling papers. Damnit! I'd forgotten there was a Conclave today. I mentally kicked myself for being so stupid.

"Right," my master finally said. "Anything to report?"

I told him the entire story. I was under orders to keep looking for the Sarcophagus and execute the orders of the Prince, but at the same time, to keep an eye on said Prince as well.

"I see," my master said slowly. "And this house is your only lead?"

"It would appear so, master."

The other end of the line remained silent for a while. "Then I suppose you'll have no choice if you want to stick close to that Sarcophagus."

"And do I?"

"I can't afford to let that thing out of my sight, Tanira. I've chosen you because I know you can handle surprises and because you're the most independent of my operatives. I don't like sending you on these dangerous missions, but I wouldn't do so if I didn't know you could handle it."

"Thank you master."

"Now, it wouldn't be very appreciative of me to send you there without any help. I'll wire some cash to your account right now, and I'll FedEx you something powerful. Use your money to buy some gear while you wait for the package."

"Thank you, master."

The other end of the line was silent for a moment again. "Will you be alright, Tanira?"

I nodded, even though I was talking on the phone. "I think so."

"Alright. I'll make sure the cops keep their patrols away from King's Way, and that they don't respond to 911 calls about gunfire. Good luck, Tanira."

"Thank you, master," I said for the third time.

"I need to get back to the Conclave now. Who knows what deals they're making behind my back right now."

"I know. Sorry to bother you, master."

"Don't be sorry, Tanira. The safety of my people is worth more to me than this inane Conclave. Call me when you have more information, all right?"

"I will. Goodbye."

* * *

FedEx usually took around three hours to deliver packages from my master's location to L.A., so I had plenty of time to pay a visit to Mercurio again.

* * *

"Good evening, ms. Del Rey. Anything I can do for you tonight?" 

"Hello, Mercurio. Your eye seems to be healing nicely."

He touched the blue swelling on his eyebrow. "Yeah, I got some juice from the main man."

I fought back a grin.

"That didn't sound right, did it?" Mercurio asked with a grin of his own.

"Not really. Anyway, I'm looking for some body armour."

"Aha!" Mercurio exclaimed, and dug up a bulletproof vest. "What we have here is the latest in fashionable kevlar-teflon mixes combined w – "

"I don't need a bulletproof vest," I interrupted.

"I see. Going up against knives then?"

"Eh... something like that."

He produced a long leather trenchcoat. "Reinforced with lightweight metal threads, but looks like regular leather to avoid suspicion."

"Perfect. I'll need you to give me a little credit on this one though."

Mercurio nodded. "But I do this only for very special customers, I'll have you know."

I smiled at him. "I'm very flattered."

He spread his hands. "Credit where credit's due, business's been pretty good ever since you rolled into town. Lots of people needing guns all of a sudden."

I grinned. "I suppose that wherever I go, things get more interesting, that what you mean?"

"You could say that, yeah."

"Anyway," I said, "I'm waiting for the bank to transfer some cash to my account, so you'll have the money tomorrow night."

"Sure thing."

It'd mean leaving my favourite jacket at home, but I suppose it was for the best. It'd probably get mauled to shreds anyway. But best not to dwell on that.

"I hope it's your size," Mercurio said redundantly.

"We'll see," I replied equally redundantly, and switched coats. The trenchcoat was heavier than I'd expected. "What possessed you to call this thing 'lightweight'?"

He shrugged. "I said the threads were lightweight, not the entire thing."

"So it's a heavyweight trenchcoat."

"... made of lightweight threads."

I laughed and shook my head. "Mercurio, you've missed your calling. I just know that somewhere out there, there's a used car lot waiting for your salesmanship."

* * *

My good cheer had faded by the time the cab rolled into the Hollywood Hills. The trenchcoat I wore, though heavy and looking quite strong, felt flimsy when I thought of thouse crawlies and their maws. I had seen one bite straight through a ribcage, and the thought of my trenchcoat being any use to stop those teeth seemed more ridiculous every time I thought of it. On the seat next to me was the package my master had sent by courier. There was an odd item in it; a small stone fossil that looked like a nautilus. The note packed with it simply said, _Odious Chalice. Will absorb blood from enemies you kill. Bite to drain blood. Good luck, Tanira._

"Why so glum, sugar?" the cab driver sang out. "Anything old Moses can help you with?"

Oh joy. Another cabbie who wanted to make conversation.

"I take it you're Moses?" I replied in a suitably bored tone.

The cab driver was undaunted. It was dark, and in the rear-view mirror, I could only see the white of his eyes and his teeth, bared in a creepy smile. "That's right, miss! Moses Jameston, at your service! Moses can't bear to see such a beautiful lady looking so worried!"

"So what's the matter, Moses," I said calmly, looking out the window. "Looking to score a white girl tonight? Hoping to blow your load inside a pink pussy?"

"Miss!" he shouted indignantly. "I don't know what you're – "

"Don't bother, Moses. I know what you're after. It's the same thing your kind is always after."

He remained quiet for a while and then rumbled, "Well. It's good to see that racism is still alive and well in this day and age."

"Just drive, boy. I'm not paying you to talk."

"It's odd though," he continued regardless, "you'd think someone like yourself would not be so quick to resort to racism."

_What_ did he say?

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, sharpening a threatening edge onto my voice.

"Well, you look Hispanic yourself, miss. You must know how damaging racism can be," he said, as if it was obvious. It was obvious only to him.

"I never had any problems with my heritage. I'm not black." Surely he could see that?

"Ugliness is not in the colour of the skin, miss. It's right here, in the soul," he said, tapping his chest with his fist.

I rolled my eyes. "You're all the same. When you're not calling everyone racist, you're busy spouting the same old clichés over and over."

"I'm sorry you think that way, miss. You look quite beautiful, but it turns out looks are deceiving. Your heart appears to be even blacker than my skin."

I laughed. "Trust me, boy, you have _no_ idea!"

We obviously didn't talk anymore after that, although I did occasionally see his eyes on me in the rear-view mirror, as if he was trying to look into my soul, or whatever voodoo shit those guys believed in. Or maybe he was just trying to look at my breasts and imagining how it would feel to fuck me. I wouldn't be surprised. I'd gotten to know their kind only too well back when I was alive.


	8. Chapter 8

The house on King's Way was a large white villa with a spacious driveway, surrounded by palm trees and some kind of exotic grass. There was nothing wrong with the villa at first sight, but it seemed... dead somehow. There were no cars in the driveway, and weeds were growing between the stones. All the shutters were down and the walls looked like they hadn't been maintained in a long time. The entire house was one large chunk of dead, faded matter. A hulking creature that had died some time ago and had slowly petrified. The air felt icy and humid on my face.

But then, what had I expected? To see the occupants barbecuing with the neighbours, the man of the house wearing a "kiss the cook"-apron?

I took a look around the house for a way in. The front door was locked. After a quick look around, I slid my lockpicks into the lock and attempted to manipulate the tumblers. I had never been too good at those things, but sometimes simple locks were manageable. And this, oddly so given the location, was a simple lock. People probably put their faith in alarm systems around these parts.

After ten minutes of tampering with the lock, my aching fingers finally succeeded in making the lock produce a _click_. I put my lockpick away and pushed the door open. At least, I tried to. The damn thing was bolted from the inside. Breaking it down wasn't really an option, even though the cops were distracted with other matters. There could always be some crazed vigilante who felt a desperate need to complicate matters. Or to get himself eaten by those critters, for that matter. Better to take the stealthy approach. There was an arch next to the house that led to the back. Maybe I could find a way in through there. I saw a curtain move in the neighbours' window. Someone had moved away from it when I looked up. Probably went to call the cops. Good luck with that, old girl.

Like all the other houses, this one had a pool, but unlike those others, this pool only had a few centimetres of stagnant, brackish water in it. And that water was disgusting, filled with decomposing leaves, dirt, and even a few dead animals that had probably scurried in for a drink and hadn't been able to get back out. It was pretty disgusting. At least the owners hadn't bothered with a "we don't swim in your toilet"-sign.

I looked around for a way into the house. There was nothing on the ground floor, but when I looked higher, I saw a balcony with two terrace doors slid a centimetre apart. And the trellis looked like it might hold my weight without breaking. The white paint on the wood had flaked and the plants were dry and withered, but the wood itself appeared to be in good condition. First I hurled my trenchcoat onto the balcony and then I gave the thing a few tugs to be sure. It seemed capable to carry my weight. As I started climbing, I felt like a character in some eighties movie, and wondered why they didn't make trellises that snapped when a person tried to climb them. This trellis snapped and groaned a few times, but it was probably too grateful for its new, if short-lived, sense of purpose to disappoint me.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply before putting on the trenchcoat again. Not that I needed the air, but taking a deep breath was one of those old human habits that still had the effect of calming me down. I looked out over the city and saw lights of cars moving. People going home or going out, having no idea what was going on here. I hoped that none of those crawlies were still around, but I had to assume they were. I took out my Glock and slid the door open with my left hand.

The stench that wafted out was overpowering. Good thing I didn't need to breathe. The air that slowly billowed out stank of rot, stale blood, and that horrible smell that comes free when someone's insides become someone's outsides. I thrust my Glock inside and scanned the room. This wasn't the same room as the one in the video, but it was similar enough for me to know that it was the same house. Blood had splattered and smeared all over the floor, walls and ceiling. Most of it had turned brown and crusted already, but some of the stains were fresh and bright red, which reinforced my worries that this house was still 'inhabited'. Furniture was knocked over and had been chewed by small, but powerful teeth.

Apart from that, the room was clear. But just to be sure, I sweeped my pistol over the entire length of the walls. There were two doors, one closed and one ajar. Logic dictated that I started with the one that wasn't closed. I gently pushed it open with the barrel of my Glock. It was a bathroom, although it probably hadn't seen any bathers for a long time. There was blood everywhere, but it probably wouldn't be the last room splattered with red. I checked the room with the help of the blood-spattered mirror, and this one appeared to be clear as well. Even the bath, although I half-expected to find a severed head in it, or something equally gruesome.

The bathroom didn't have any doors, so I went back to the closed one in the previous room. It was bolted on this side. In other words, bolted to keep things _inside_. I slowly slid the bolt back and pushed the door open. It creaked open partly, making too much noise for my tastes, but it was blocked by something lying in front of it. I gave it a hard push, and it opened all the way, pushing the obstruction out before it. The thing that had been blocking the door was the mangled carcass of a German shepherd.

The stink in this room was flattening. Man's best friend was already partly decomposed (it had left a slimy trail where I'd pushed it out), and maggots crawled all over the liquifying tissue. And a little further, I saw the shredded remains of a human. For some reason, the monsters had left one lower leg intact. The white woman's running shoe left me no doubt as to who this victim had been. Again I was struck with a draining sadness over this girl. Poor thing had never stood a chance. Imagine only knowing the mundane human world and then being trapped in a house with those gruesome little creatures. The inspired an instinctual revulsion in me already, so I could only wonder what the effect on an unknowing human would be. Insane panic probably.

I wasn't one to be overly sentimental concerning the fate of humans, since they were, after all, short-lived and blissfully ignorant for the most part, but this was simply horrible. I could only hope her terror had been so great that she hadn't lived through her brutal death with her full conscience. But no use dwelling on that.

I took one step into the room. As I lifted my foot to take another one, I saw something move in the corner of my eye. In a flash, I whirled toward the movement and as the cardboard boxes behind which the creature had been hiding were knocked aside, I fired two bullets, the cracks of the shots blasting the silence apart. The monster was caught in mid-leap by the projectiles, one of the bullets smashing into its teeth and the other blasting into the centre of its head. The thing spun through the air, its two paws describing circles which elongated into a spiral as it fell.

A phenomenon which causes quite some casualties among soldiers, police officers, criminals and other users of handguns is what is known as 'tunnel vision'. Not the same tunnel vision as the one that occurs when you drive a car at an extremely high speed, but the principle is similar: the defender's vision focuses only on the initial source of aggression, making his awareness shrink to only that point. All the rest, outside of that point, is a blur, and is not perceived. Once the initial threat has been dealt with, the defender's vision remains locked on the now-neutralized danger, and other threats outside of the walls of the tunnel remain unnoticed. It was this tunnel vision that allowed the second monster to catch me unaware. It leapt at me with blinding speed, and I noticed it far too late, so all I could do was bring my arm up to protect my face. The creature's maw closed around my arm and there was an explosion of pain and pressure as it struck. I felt the two bones in my forearm break. However, the pressure lasted only a fraction of a second. The critter let go and screeched in pain, blood running from its broken teeth. Through a haze of pain I pointed my Glock with my good arm and shot the little monster five times, blasting it apart in a spray of brains, tissue and broken teeth.

I sweeped my Glock across the room to prevent another case of tunnel vision and at the same time, burned some blood to heal my arm. The bones mended back together with a series of snaps and cracks. It was horribly painful, but it allowed me to hold my pistol with both hands again. After I had satisfied myself that there was no threat, I took a look at my sleeve. The leather was shredded, and through it, I could see the metal threads. Metal strips was a better word. They were twisted and damaged, but they had stopped the creature's bite from severing my arm entirely. Another bite in the same place would most likely go through them, but it was good to know that the metal actually protected me more than just psychologically. I looked down at the remains of the creatures. They were even uglier up close. The most disgusting thing about them was that their skulls, at the back of their heads, were open, exposing the brains even when they hadn't taken any bullets. I shuddered, an instinctual human reaction I didn't know I still possessed.

There was nothing in the room apart from the bodies, old and new, and so I descended the stairs and found myself in what had been a kitchen. Another monster leapt at me from behind the kitchen counter, and as it leapt, I fired two bullets at it. The shots hit the target, but didn't slow it down. I was able to dive aside just in time to avoid the leap. The creature skidded to a halt, turned around and leapt again. But this time I had boosted my speed using my Celerity. I sidestepped, let it slam into the wall and as it tried to get up, I blew a bullet straight into the opening of its skull, bursting the brain apart in a spray of tissue.

I tactically reloaded, keeping my eyes on the kitchen, but nothing leapt at me. When I looked down at the critter again, I saw I had blasted its brain out through its mouth. Something on its paw, however, drew my attention. It looked to be just a darker spot, but it was more than that. On the red-brown skin of the creature's paw was something that had a pattern or a clear definition, and so was't just a discolouration. As I looked even closer, I saw what it was. It was a U.S. Marine Corps tattoo!

The realization made me back against the wall for support. These weren't just monsters! They were beasts made of what used to be people! Now I realized why the creature's faces, while deformed beyond recognition, still reminded me of human faces, and why the brains had the same size and cortex complexity as human ones. I took a look at the eyes and wished I hadn't. They were human! I felt blood coming up in my throat, the same way bile and sour stomach contents come up for a living human. I gagged but the blood stayed down. Imagine being turned into this! I could only guess at the process used to hack apart, twist and butcher people and turn them into these monsters, but however it was done, it could only be done by an extremely sadistic and wrenched mind. I closed my eyes and took a moment to collect myself.

The living room was dominated by a red, bloated pillar of flesh, stretching from floor to ceiling. I thought it moved, but I wasn't sure if it was just my imagination. This was crazy. Stairs led down into the basement. I put my Glock away and took out the Python. The heavy metal revolver felt reassuring in my hand. Slowly, I crept down the stairs. The basement was a large, empty room, more like a warehouse. In the middle of it stood a figure in a red robe. It stood on two feet, and it looked almost human.

Almost. Its face was a sickly green-gray, and its face, while vaguely human-looking, was topped by a large bony crest and riddled with protrusions and jutting bone. Inside its gray-green eyesockets, red irises burned inside black eyeballs.

"Welcome, Camarilla," it grated in a strange Eastern European accent. As it spoke, I saw the pointed fangs in its mouth. I wouldn't have been able to tell without seeing that, but this was another Vampire.

"So you are the one who made these... creatures?" I asked, training the Python on him.

He nodded, the crest going up and down. "Yes. These creatures. _My_ creatures. Is it not frightening to you that, like a God, I can create life?"

"How? How can you create those things?"

The figure laughed. "They can not be made when one only limits himself to the powers offered to Kindred of the Camarilla. Only the fleshcrafting discipline of us Tzimisce can create new out of the old."

The Tzimisce. I had heard of them, but this was the first time I actually encountered one. They were feared monsters, and along with the Lasombra they were the leading clan of the Sabbat.

"But why? Why did you make these monstrosities?"

"You call them monstrosities? Interesting. I prefer to call them superior lifeforms. They exist only to kill, and they do so with an effectiveness that inspires fear in all creatures, living or dead. They were the homeless, the useless, the excrement of society. I have given them new, glorious purpose! I have recreated them in my image!"

"They're abominations!" I shouted.

He laughed again. "You speak as should be expected from one who is caught in the trappings of dead flesh. You feel this body of yours as a cage, do you not? As a limitation, a crux of your damnation. I have broken free of this cage. I have altered it to suit my needs and now my cage has become the instrument of my power. I have made myself a truly frightening and powerful being to behold."

"Why did you create them?"

His eyes narrowed. "To gouge out the eyes of the Camarilla! To kill the Nosferatu, or drive them from their homes! The Camarilla will be blinded to the designs of the Sabbat! It is feeble when the Nosferatu cannot provide them with information."

"So you released them in the sewers?"

The Tzimisce merely grinned.

"And what are you hoping to accomplish?"

"The Final Nights are approaching, Kindred. The Camarilla is weak and will fall at the moment of Gehenna. The Camarilla is an insult to our nature! It is an instrument to stunt our glory! We are meant to rule mortals, not cower among them! We shall assume our rightful place as rulers again, and the human race will be enslaved, fed upon and altered as we see fit!"

"You are a fool!" I shouted. "Even if we were to reveal ourselves and attempt to enslave humanity, they would wipe us out! They outnumber us a hundred thousand to one!"

"Yes, and so have many of my peers discovered, several hundred years ago. And so the Camarilla was formed. And so you became the cowering sheep among sheep you are today. We must again be wolves, Kindred. And so we must reshape our bodies and those of our enemies to suit our purposes. And you will fall before us as wheat before a scythe!"

I'd heard enough. "Maybe, but you won't live to see Gehenna!" I yelled and pulled the trigger of the Python. The blast was deafening and the recoil knocked the gun upwards. But the bullet smashed into the wall behind the Tzimisce. The creature laughed as I realized it had been standing several metres to my left and projecting his image. Its hand was on a lever.

"Now you will be torn apart by my creations, Kindred, and turned into one yourself!"

It pulled the lever. A panel slid upwards, revealing the mouth of a pipe.The same monsters as those I had shot earlier poured out of it, half-jumping forward on their two misshapen paws. There were seven of them. I pulled the trigger on my Python again and again, five more times. One bullet missed and two bullets struck the same target. The salvo had burst apart three of the creatures. I dropped my Python and used my Celerity, projecting myself upwards with a great leap. As I leapt, I pulled my Glock and fired four more rounds, right in the exposed brains of the creatures, flattening them. I had calculated my jump so that I came down right in front of the Tzimisce. Before it could react, I fired four times into its face. The Vampire staggered back, blood spraying from its head. Then it screeched and launched itself at me, body-slamming me to the ground. My Glock skittered across the floor and I felt my ankle twist as I tried to keep my balance but was knocked over by the velocity of the Tzimisce slamming into me. Some of its bony points stabbed between the metal strips and into my chest, ripping through the flesh of my breasts and abdomen and piercing lungs and shredding organs I fortunately no longer needed. The pain was incredible. My vision became red as we both crashed into the ground.

As my blood fled from my body, my strength fled with it. The Tzimisce used its weight to drive its points further in me. Its face loomed over mine, fangs bared in a horrible grimace.

"I will drain you, Kindred!"

The bullets that had hit the Tzimisce had been repelled by the thick bone of its skull, leaving only dents and pits in the creature's face. The teeth came closer to mine.

"I will drain you, Kindred!" the creature growled again. I frantically tried to push it off me.

"Drain you through your eyesockets!"

The teeth were a centimetre away from my eyes. I screamed and with my last bit of strength, I manage to pull my right arm free. I tore my knife from its sheath and stabbed frantically at the Tzimisce's side. The vampire screeched again and pulled its face up, only to bring it down again as it fought back the pain. I kicked and thrashed frantically, pistoning my knife into the Tzimisce's side again and again, but it was no good. I couldn't stop it! This creature was going to kill me, bursting my eyeballs and draining me through my eye sockets.

_I created them in my image_

I screamed again and focused all my remaining strength for the last time, pulling my right arm up, and slamming my knife down into the back of the Tzimisce's skull, straight into the soft, exposed mass of its brain. My hand went in all the way to the wrist and the knife came out through the monster's mouth.

The Tzimisce shuddered, its eyes rolled back and it started thrashing, the bony protrusions tearing open my wounds. Its claws spasmed up and down, ripping into my face. I closed my eyes as hard as I could, but my nose and lips were torn open and the pain went up another notch. I could taste blood running into my throat and nasal cavity. Suddenly the slashing stopped and the Tzimisce collapsed, crumpling off of me. I coughed out the blood that had run into my nose and throat and in a screaming conflagration of pain, pulled myself out from underneath the Tzimisce's body. Some of the muscles and tendons in my torso were torn and they wailed in pain with every movement.

I felt I still had a little blood left, just enough to heal the wounds that were bleeding most. The tissues reattached themselves and the worst of the bleedings were contained. I brought my hand up and felt my face, weeping tears of blood from the pain as I realized that my face had been torn clean off from the nose to the upper lip. Between my eyes and lower lip was only blood red skull and a large hole where my nose had been.

Out of my trenchcoat pocket (the thing had saved my unlife, because without it, the Tzimisce's spikes would have bled me dry in a matter of seconds), I took the nautilus-shaped artifact I had gotten from my master. I put it in my mouth, and my lipless upper jaw bit into it. The blood of the critters I had shot flooded into my mouth. It was weak, clotted and disgusting, but it had once been human and so I could extract at least some potence from it still. I groaned in pain as my nose reformed and my lip was recreated, and the holes in my body were closed. It had been just enough blood to heal my body. I remained on the ground for a while, in a large pool of blood, my eyes closed.

Finally, I rose, retrieving my Glock and my Python. Walking was still difficult and painful, but that would heal over time. All it required was a good meal, and I'd be good as new.

"LaCroix."

"Prince, this is Tanira Del Rey," I said into my phone. "Could you send someone to pick me up please?"

"Where are you?"

"King's Way, in the Hollywood Hills."

"I shall send my Sherriff to pick you up."

"Thank you Prince. Although you might want to come take a look at this yourself."

Silence on the other end of the line. "At what specifically?"

"It seems the Sabbat are more active in L.A. than we thought. I just found their base of operations and extinguished the Tzimisce inhabiting it."

"I see... We'll deal with that later, for now we'll make sure you return safely. My Sherriff will pick you up and then we'll go take a look at this Sabbat headquarters."

Twenty minutes later, a silent Sherriff and his driver rolled up on the driveway in a Hummer to pick me up. Not a word was said on the trip. I wondered if I would ever hear that guy talk. As we drove back, I thought back on what had happened. I had never dared to fear that the Sabbat were such sadistic and monstrous beings. If they truly intended to destroy us, the fate that we were in danger of facing was terrible indeed. Perhaps the Anarchs would understand the necessity of the Camarilla a little bit more if I told them what had happened back there. But they probably wouldn't. And I'd be sent into the sewers to look for the Nosferatu who would, in turn, lead me to the Sarcophagus. The opening through which the critters had come when the Tzimisce had pulled the lever would probably lead straight to the Nosferatu. And things would just continue the way they would. I sighed. At least no young woman would be taped being torn apart by those monsters again.

When I got out of the car and opened the large doors to Venture Tower, Prince LaCroix' building, I stopped for a moment and realized I'd forgotten to check if that Tzimisce had truly met his Final Death or if he'd simply gone into torpor. I _had_ checked, right? Yes, I had. But when? Had I? I wasn't sure. But regardless, no creature could survive having its brain destroyed so it must have been sent into Final Death. It must have been.


End file.
